


His Match

by StValentine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, Humor, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Murder, Mystery, POV Mycroft Holmes, Possibly OOC Mycroft, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StValentine/pseuds/StValentine
Summary: When Mycroft Holmes, a minor British government official, woke to find himself kidnapped by a bunch of retards, he deduced it was going to be nightmarishly long and dull three hours till his rescue. For the first time in his life, Mycroft Holmes was wrong.





	His Match

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic after quite a long break in writing. It's been sitting on my laptop for months and I've been recently encouraged to post it by a friend. Please bear in mind that despite my heartfelt attempts, I feel that I have been unable to do justice to the brilliance of the unique mind of Mycroft Holmes; thus, he might come off slightly OOC. Hopefully, it's not too bad and you can still enjoy this small story of mystery, intrigue and attraction between two like-minded individuals.

He woke groggy, his mind still wrapped in a fuzzy haze, resulting in his brains working in an overdrive, trying to catch up, to read the situation. In less than thirty seconds he had already rummaged through his misty memories and was aware he had been abducted from the front porch of his dearest brother’s house. And wasn’t that ironic? One more reason to spite the youngest Holmes, then. He recalled being grabbed from behind, his movements restricted, a sweet smelling cloth covering his nose and mouth. Judging from the smell of the substance, the pounding headache in his head and the wish to almost immediately empty his stomach on the floor, it was the good old chloroform. How very unoriginal, he supposed. On another hand, now Mycroft could take a very educated guess that he had been unconscious for two to four hours at most. This lead to the conclusion he was not taken too far from London. A few hours’ drive at best.

Other than that, he knew he was tied rather brutally to a hard wooden chair, his arms bent uncomfortably behind the backrest and wrapped in crude ropes, halting his blood flow efficiently. His legs were tied to the legs of the chair respectively and as he glanced around surreptitiously, to his total dismay, Mycroft realized his favorite umbrella was out of sight. He lamented his loss for all of 15 seconds before averting his attention to the rope tied around his waist. It was wrapped several times and constricted his breath slightly. Mycroft flecked his wrists a few times experimentally and soon realized it would take him far too much effort to free himself than he was prepared to exert.

A quick glance around told Mycroft he was in a rather dark, dusty and empty warehouse with small windows up high on the walls and one entrance, right in front of him, though quite several meters away. He could discern the door in the darkness due to a small crack of light underneath it. The entire warehouse was drowned in shadows and the light from the moon fleeting through the dirty windows was abysmal. He was kidnapped at around 11PM after his visit to Sherlock, and, given the substance used on him, it had to be around 3AM at the latest. The warehouse was empty, none of the kidnappers around and wasn’t that one of the silliest things to do for criminal wannabies? Who leaves their victims alone with probable chances of escape? Granted, he was too lazy to try that and his rapidly working mind already informed him rescue was coming in exactly three hours. No more, no less, so why even bother?

Of course, there were many more details the circumstances had inevitably divulged to him and Mycroft filed it away in the corners of his mind for a later time, opting to avert his attention to an occupied wooden chair merely a meter to his left. He wondered if it was going to be his ‘name-confused assistant’ as Sherlock liked to call her or, perhaps, someone of higher importance… what he found did surprise Mycroft a little and he was even a bit dismayed an innocent bystander got caught up in this story. If things went awry, he’d have to buy her silence later on, no doubt. 

The first thing he did notice about her was that she was petite and fair-skinned. She didn’t get out much and her skin did not get enough sunlight. Indoor work, then. Her hands were bound behind her back similarly to his but the moonlight falling upon them was enough to discern she had elegant long fingers. Not physical work, then. Her head was turned downwards and all he could see was a fluffy mane of loose curls, dark brown, most probably. She fidgeted on the chair and Mycroft concluded she had been sitting on it for as long as he did. Her legs were bound together though, all for the better, for she was wearing a thin pastel colored (light green, perhaps?) night dress that was just a tad bit too short for his comfort. Not that he was a virgin like his highly esteemed brother, mind you, however, something about the white soft-looking skin showing just under the hem of the night dress was a little bit distracting, dear he say. While her clothing was not overly sexy or revealing, it was designed to show just enough to peak the man’s interest. The night gown was strapped and had beautifully crafted lacing on the hems. The material looked to be silk from what Mycroft could deduce based on the silvery sheen it gave in the moonlight. The material barely covered the woman’s thighs and accentuated her well shaped breasts, the lacing attracting Mycroft’s eyes to them involuntarily. One of the straps had fallen down the woman’s shoulder revealing fair and soft-looking skin and while Mycroft prided in having cool composure and business-like demeanor even in personal-related matters, the view did seem, mayhap, slightly enticing and arousing.

Averting his eyes downwards in annoyance, Mycroft forced his mind to abandon any attempts at trying to deduce what lay beneath the silky material the woman wore and opted to stare at the no-nonsense low heeled black pumps she was wearing on her dainty feet. 37 in size. Taken in a hurry, most probably.  In other words, his companion in being kidnapped preferred to be practical in most areas of her life and had average income as these were no designer shoes. The gown was most probably a gift from a friend and a female one, dare he guess.

His sensitive nose could also catch a soft fragrance of fruity and fresh shampoo, so she had taken a shower prior to going to bed. He could not discern the exact fragrance for she was too far and all in all, it wasn’t much to go on. Mycroft felt somewhat irritated by the lack of information, even though much of it was unavailable to him due to the lack of proper light. Still, it was embarrassing. He would never live it down if his brother dearest was somehow to find it out.

He shifted in the chair, flexing his muscles, his lips positioned into a frown, when, suddenly, his movements seemed to attract the attention of the woman. She snapped her head towards him, the slightly below shoulder-length curls flying around her face. The moonlight did not give much light to see her fully but Mycroft could still discern high cheekbones, well shaped eyebrows and straight aristocratic nose just above delicate and what other men would most probably call kissable lips. They parted in surprise and the woman gasped softly, “You’re awake!”

Mycroft did not deign to reply, though he wouldn’t have been able to even if he wanted, for the woman continued on without his input, “Well thank goodness, I thought you had kicked the bucket already or something. It’s not fun being kidnapped and tied next to a dead body, you know.”

Swell. He could already tell she was the chatty type. Could the night get any worse?

“Do you get kidnapped often?” she asked curiously and Mycroft pondered over the benefits of playing mute for all of thirty seconds as she interrupted again.

“Oh, never mind,” the woman obviously did not have the patience to wait for his reply. “I’m Ann. I’d shake your hand but it’s pretty impossible right now. Maybe later, then.”

She fell silent for a brief moment, her brows furrowed in thought, and then she glanced at him, “So, what’s your name, oh fellow kidnapped victim?”

Mycroft refrained from sighing and once again briefly entertained the idea of not speaking to her at all but she had been awake for longer than he was, meaning she might have more information about the kidnappers than him.

“Mycroft,” he replied in his usual tone of voice only to be met with a dubious stare.

“Any relation to Microsoft, by chance?” She kept a straight face for all of ten seconds before turning away to giggle madly.

Mycroft glared at her silently until she seemed to calm down before commenting, “As a matter of fact, Mycroft originates from the Old English roots mýðe, literally meaning 'mouth of the stream', or mype, meaning 'the function of water', and croft, meaning 'an enclosed, small field'.”

The young woman (she could hardly be over thirty years of age, Mycroft had deduced) stared at him, her mouth slightly parted as Mycroft smiled at her disparagingly.

“So, basically,” the woman’s shapely brows furrowed for a moment before she straight out snorted at him, “your name means ‘farming with water’?”

Mycroft blinked as his unfortunate comrade in kidnapping broke into peals of laughter once again, her voice echoing across the empty warehouse. Finally giving into his urge to sigh softly, Mycroft waited with what he deemed everlasting patience and he had patience in spades, what with his unruly brother, until the woman finally seemed to come to a semblance of quietude and solemnity, more fitting for the situation.

Shifting in his hard chair, Mycroft decided to go straight to the heart of the matter.

“Did you happen to see any of our abductors, Ms. Ann?”

The young woman took a few large breaths to calm herself and turned towards him again.

“I’m really sorry about that,” she said, though her eyes did not seem to hold any sincerity. “My mouth tends to run ahead of me, sometimes. Most of the time. Well, pretty much always.”

She seemed to ponder then, though Mycroft had an inkling it was not about the kidnappers. Yet, now that she had turned to him fully, he could see the woman more clearly in the dim light. There was a darkening bruise on her right cheek and Mycroft frowned. He did so hate unnecessary violence. 

“I did see several of them,” she finally said, thoughtfully. “Dick and Tom. Then there’s Sam and some Mexican sounding guy. I think there’s also another one called Ray but I haven’t seen him, yet.”

So, five that she’s been made aware of. Mycroft turned to face the entrance of the warehouse, thought chasing after thought, until he was interrupted again.

“So, any idea what they want from you?”

“Excuse me?” he cocked his brow, turning his attention back to the woman. He was hidden in the shadows more than her so he was pretty sure she could not see his face clearly. He was well aware it was him the kidnappers wanted for he had never seen the woman before and he knew all the important people. The woman did not know that, though. Mycroft always kept a low enough profile, so why would she think he was the one the kidnappers wanted?

“Well, at first I thought it was me they kidnapped, you know, for whatever reasons psychopaths take young females from their homes,” the woman explained in an almost what Mycroft would call a giddy tone of voice. “And wouldn’t that be exciting, huh? But then they dragged me here and I saw you and from the way you’re bound like that I figured you were the main treat of this evening.”

Surprised, he had to admit she had made some rather logical deductions among her incessant chatter. Mycroft had not expected that. No, he had not. Did he miscalculate? She seemed to be rather ordinary, perhaps slightly above average intelligence-wise. Mycroft took another long glance at the woman who was staring at him expectantly. He had to give up soon, though, due to the lack of proper light. She was, however, extraordinarily calm in such a situation. He could deduce several possible reasons for that but, suddenly, he was glad she was not a messy ball of sobs and whimpers. A chatty nature was much more preferable to a panicky and distraught female. He could not stand the tears. Oh how he hated the tears.

“So? Any thoughts on the matter?” the woman, Ann, pushed again and Mycroft sighed.

“No.”

“Well, are you famous, perhaps?”

In certain circles, country-wise and worldwide, yes, he supposed. “No.”

“Rich, then?”

Why yes, among the top ten richest men in Britain, he was proud to say. “No.”

“Oh,” it did not seem to deter her. “Influential, then?”

He was the British Government in the flesh, so yes, absolutely. “No. I am but a minor government official.”

“Mmm,” she murmured noncommittally and then made Mycroft go into brief shock-induced stupor with her next words.

“What’s your definition of minor, then?”

“What?” he uttered, unable to believe his own ears and the woman actually grinned at him, her rosy lips stretching languidly into an innocent smile.

“Well, it’s just a point of view, isn’t it? To someone, your position might seem minor but to our kidnappers here it surely seems to be pretty valuable, otherwise, none of us would be here,” she explained in a nonchalant way and then added as an after-thought, “Granted, of course, that they did have some sort of a plan and did not just pick a few random strangers off the street.”

Mycroft couldn’t help it and the corners of his lips lifted up into a miniscule smile. She was sharp and witty, he’d give her that. Well, he did have a bit less than three hours till rescue came. Might as well indulge himself in a small innocent game.

“What makes you so sure it’s me they want? I could be just an innocent bystander, as you said,” he said, smirking slightly, his eyes now intent on the shape of the young woman.  

She snorted in reply, “Oh, please, you’re way too calm to be an innocent bystander. And thank God you’re not; I so wouldn’t want to deal with some poor lad having a heart attack from being kidnapped.”

“I could say the same about you,” Mycroft grinned, “Aren’t you too calm in this sort of a situation?”

Ann laughed in reply as she shook her head, “Well, differently from you, who has just woken up in an unfamiliar territory from drug-induced sleep, I’ve been here for well over four hours. I’ve had sufficient amount of time to come to terms with this situation. And it is somewhat curious, isn’t it? Something you only see on the news or read in the papers. Gosh, I hope I don’t end up in a ditch butchered into pieces.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. Her thought processes were rapid and precise, though a bit… jumpy? Now here was a goldfish he could use for some entertainment tonight.

“And how do you know you’ve been here for over four hours?” he asked, smiling slightly. He was starting to enjoy this light banter. It’s not as if there was anything better to do until either the kidnappers or his secret service deigned to come.

“Oh, I’ve been counting,” she shrugged calmly and Mycroft blinked in surprise.

“You’ve been… counting?”

“Yes, you know, the usual way,” she glanced at him, her expression serene. “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi and so on. I had reached 15,325 Mississippis by the time you woke.”

“You’ve been counting… for over four hours?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, I had to occupy my mind somehow,” Ann shot back irritated. “There was nothing else to do. I was bored.”

“You were bored, so you counted,” Mycroft repeated in disbelief. He really should recommend this activity to his brother dearest.

“Yes, haven’t we had this conversation already?” He could see her roll her eyes and wondered what color they were. They seemed a dark brown but he might be wrong. The lack of light was abysmal and not to his advantage.

 “You remind me of my brother,” he said, contempt quite not so hidden in his voice. “He’s always bored.”

“Has he tried counting yet?”

“I am not sure his feeble mind is capable of such great deeds,” Mycroft replied, sarcasm seeping through his voice and Ann giggled in reply.

“Ooh hoo, do I sense a no love lost there?”

Mycroft snorted lightly as he answered nonchalantly, “Of course not. There was no love to be lost to begin with.”

She laughed out loud and Mycroft found he rather enjoyed the sound reverberating in the empty warehouse. He was lucky he was stuck with someone who at least had a good sense of humor.

“Wanna give him over to me? I’ve always wanted a younger brother,” Ann said thoughtfully.

“Trust me, you’re better off without,” Mycroft commented dryly and furrowed his brows, turning his head towards her again. “And why would you think he’s younger than you?”

“All older brothers think their younger siblings idiots,” she commented. “It’s a universal truth.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but agree on this one.

“And you sound quite older than me, so there, woman intuition,” Ann continued as she wiggled in her seat again and then sighed in defeat, as she was obviously unable to make herself more comfortable. “Do you think we’re gonna get any breakfast here?”

“Doubtful,” he murmured as he wondered how she could just jump from one topic to the other and at such neck-break speed it even left him in the dust behind. It wasn’t even the right time for breakfast.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” she muttered in reply and he watched her lean her head back to rest at the backrest. She had a long neck which arched beautifully in the moonlight.

Startled by the sudden turn of his thoughts, Mycroft cleared his throat making her turn her head to face him, and asked, “Is there anything else you’ve noticed about the kidnappers?”

“Hm, not much, really,” she shook her head. “I think Dick and Tom are ex-convicts and Sam has served in military, most probably. He’s like a chip of ice. Could play poker well. Had a scar on his face, too. Don’t know much about the others. There were five of them when I was brought here. Not sure how many there are left now.”

Mycroft raised his brow at the last rather nonchalant statement but then decided it was a logical one. There might be others joining the five kidnappers or several of them might be leaving elsewhere. The big question was how much they really knew. None of his agents had brought him any information on possible abduction plans. He always knew when he was going to be kidnapped. This was a first, he supposed. Getting abducted out of the blue. He could understand why he was kidnapped but why take this woman next to him? There must be something. Was she important? That could not be. He’d know. Innocent bystander at the wrong place and on the wrong time?

“I do know though that every single one of them is an idiot,” Ann continued. “It’s a disease, really, idiocy. Heard it can be hereditary. Let’s hope none of them have any kids. The world’s gene pool is already pretty abysmal.”

“Which one of them idiots hit you, then?” Mycroft asked, noticing how the darkened bruise had grown larger. Or, perhaps, it was a trick of the light.  

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter,” she shook her head. “We’re lucky our kidnappers are stupid. We might actually survive this.”

“Mmm,” Mycroft hummed in reply and watched Ann give him a large grin.

“Say, Mycroft, given the implication of your name… can you swim?”

He raised his brow in slight confusion, the question over the woman’s identity put to the background for a moment, “What do my swimming skills have to do with anything?”

“Well, can you hold your breath under water? For how long? I’ve read average people can hold it only for 30 seconds,” Ann blabbed on and Mycroft furrowed his forehead, staring at her incredulously.

“I fail to see why this would matter in our situation.”

“Oh come on, don’t you watch the movies?” Ann laughed. “Whenever someone’s in a pinch, like kidnapped, trapped, imprisoned or whatever, there’s always a scene where they have to swim and dive. Holding one’s breath is vital to one’s survival.”

“I don’t watch movies,” he sneered slightly as he looked away. He always found most of the movies lacking in the logic department. “Given the circumstances, I see absolutely no possibility of us needing to swim. We’re in a shabby warehouse barely a few hours’ drive from London, most probably to the south, in one of the abandoned sewing factories. There are no water bodies within the radius of over 50 km.”

“Wow,” she stared at him incredulously. “Impressive.”

He merely inclined his head, ready to move on to another topic of conversation, perhaps, back to her identity or the kidnappers. Mycroft was starting to have several rather disquieting suspicions about them, having gone through a variety of possible scenarios.

“So, how long?”

“Excuse me?” He raised his brow questioningly. She could not be talking about the same thing again, could she?

“How long can you hold your breath? Come on, I’m curious,” she grinned.

He gave a small sigh and rolled his eyes, “Forty seconds, fifty tops.”

She gave a low whistle, “Nice. Your chance of survival just went up to 75%.”

“So then, what’s your chance of survival?” the man asked, turning to her inquisitively. 

“Oh, mine’s around 80% now.”

“Pretty high, don’t you think?” he teased her with a smile.

“Yes, well, I’m a woman,” she grinned at him. “Pretty ladies either die last or first and since I’m still here…”

She made a significant pause and Mycroft chuckled, despite his decision not to. 

A brief silence set over them and he rushed to get ahead of Ann before she brought another insipid topic to light, “I take it they took you from your home?”

“Eh, yeah,” she shifted in her place uncomfortably. “I was, uh, sleeping.”

The older Holmes brother raised his brow in surprise, “You’re lying.”

“What?” she turned her eyes away, fidgeting slightly in the chair and looking mighty uncomfortable. “Of course not, why would I?”

Indeed, why would she? Mycroft narrowed his eyes as his mind calculated several possibilities and theories, none of which bounded well for either of them. The most probable one was that she was in league with the kidnappers, trying to get his trust as a fellow victim but it fell through at the fact she couldn’t lie even to save her life-

“Ugh, FINE! I’m a terrible liar, anyways. I was in the kitchen,” she pouted, biting her lip and glancing at Mycroft through her long black lashes. All the signs were telling him she had lied again. Now why would she do that once more?

“Lies,” he called it out and the girl gave up pouting, opting to glare at him openly, her cheeks reddening in the pale light at being caught.

He cocked his head to a side as he realized what she was hiding, “You were in your bathroom.”

She didn’t reply but the avoidance of his sharp eyes was proof enough.

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s only natural,” he smiled slightly though it went unseen by Ann who groaned in mortification. Really. What was he thinking? In league with the kidnappers? Ha.

“Can we not talk about that, please?” She turned towards Mycroft again. “I was kidnapped from my home. End of story.”

“Why did the man hit you?”

She shrugged, “To be fair, I hit him first.”

“Did you?”

“Well, what did you expect?” She rounded on him, “I heard some noise from my bedroom so I grabbed the nearest vase and hit him in the head.”

He stared at her, silent.

“He survived. My vase did not,” she pouted and Mycroft wondered if Ann was more distraught about the vase or the man.

“What happened then?”

“The usual stuff,” she sighed. “Got threatened with a gun, refused to cooperate, got slapped by one of them, realized I did not want to die yet, bargained for some clothes and got only shoes.”

She was frowning by the end of it, looking down at her own feet in disappointment. Her skin was deathly pale and it was only now that Mycroft was observing her more closely that he noticed she was shivering slightly. The temperature at the warehouse was low enough for him to feel chilly and he was still dressed in his impeccable three-piece suit. The woman barely had anything on her. The silk night dress hardly counted and, to his surprise, Mycroft found himself annoyed at the situation. Idiotic kidnappers. They were going to pay for this stupid situation, of that he would make sure.

“You’re cold,” was all he said, however, feeling as if he should say something in return.

Ann snorted in reply, “Way to state the obvious, genius.”

Mycroft shifted in his seat, flexing his hands a bit, feeling uncomfortable. He was never good at comforting. Feelings. Useless sentiments. And then, understanding dawned in his mind. She was not taken from a street like him. Someone knew where she lived and broke into her house to take her alive, threatening her with a gun. Now, why would anyone kidnap a nobody from their home? If Ann was taken from her own bedroom, it meant either she was important or she had something important in her house. The realization hit him so suddenly he almost gasped and his mind ran in circles trying to connect the dots. How had he missed this?

“Did the kidnappers ever mention what they wanted?” He asked, turning to look at Ann, thoughts racing a mile a minute.

“Not really, not that I remember.”

“Did they take something from your person or your home?”

The woman snorted, “They might have taken lots of things, not that I could intervene.”

She then fell silent and glanced back at him, her lips set into frown. “Oh, that’s right. I kind of forgot for a moment there but they did take the truth serum bottle. I had left it on the desk when I was working. I specifically told them not to but they did, anyways. It’s not like men ever listen to-”

“Truth serum?!” Mycroft gasped out in a sudden outburst of raw emotion and the woman flinched at his voice.

“Not so loud, jeez,” she glanced around. “It echoes in here.”

“What truth serum?” He bit out, all of his focus on the woman now.

She shrugged, “It’s an experimental one, not yet finished, really. I always keep a batch of it at home just in case inspiration hits me. I figure they might try and use it on you, or something. Tough luck, man.”

“Where do you work, Ms. Ann?” he asked sharply and she glanced at him, surprised at his tone.

“In the labs.”

“And more precisely?” Mycroft bit out, though he had a pretty good idea by now. There was only one experimental truth serum currently in the making in Britain.

“The Asclepius Laboratory,” she replied, looking at him. “I do some research work there.”

“Under the supervision of Dr. Stranders, I believe,” Mycroft muttered and Ann nodded, clearly surprised by his knowledge. Of course, he should have foreseen this but he was unaware the information had leaked. Dr. Stranders brought forth quite a few ground-breaking discoveries in the past years, very potent healing salves and extremely fast-acting poisons being only a few among them. Her last work, however, was related to the enhancement of a so called truth serum. A fascinating combination of modern chemistry and traditional herbal medicine. He was rather impressed by the early reports. He was not, however, aware that the serum was already near completion.

More importantly, though, Ms. Ann was not just a simple bystander. She was clearly working in the lab of Dr. Stranders and knew enough to be of interest to the kidnappers. They must have known she had clearance to bring experiments home to further work on them. Mycroft knew he would have to find the leak as soon as he was out of here. The kidnappers would use the truth serum on him, no doubt.

“Our kidnappers are in possession of one of the strongest truth serums in the country and perhaps the entire world, and you are telling me this only now?” he couldn’t help but raise his voice slightly. He hadn’t felt so irritated since over five hours ago when he was last talking to Sherlock.

Ann frowned at him and hissed back, “It’s not like we can change anything now, can we? Or do you have some sort of supernatural powers and can break through our bonds? If so, please be my guest."

He ignored her jab in favor of collecting himself. It would really not do anything good to lose it now. He needed a plan and a way to counter the serum. Sadly, it was one of the masterpieces of Dr. Stranders. It was based on relaxants and coaxed the truth out of someone rather than forcing. He had seen the serum at its early stages and it was a formidable weapon.

“You should relax, all is not as bad as it seems,” Ann said, sympathetically. “At the rate things are going now they won’t even get the chance to try that serum out.”

Mycroft merely glared at her briefly, not deigning her with an answer.

She sighed, “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hide it. Really. I don’t usually talk about work to other people. It’s kind of a… taboo topic.”

The woman was frowning now and Mycroft observed her for a while, sighing internally. He couldn’t really fault her for not thinking clearly ahead. She was but an ordinary lab assistant, albeit rather witty and intelligent enough to have landed the job and be working on the serum together with Dr. Stranders. He should be glad she was holding it together and not coming apart at the seams.

“And don’t forget,” Ann suddenly grinned mischievously. “Those kidnappers of ours are certainly not the brightest tools in the shed. I bet they’ll get themselves killed sooner than they can interrogate you.”

He snorted in response and rolled his eyes, unseen by her in the shadows, “Why yes, I am sure they’ll just start dropping like flies around us.”

She laughed in return, a bell-like clear sound which did not irritate him, amazingly enough.

“Oh, I know, let’s play a guessing game,” Ann exclaimed enthusiastically. “You need to take your mind off things.”

He merely sighed. “I don’t think that’s-”

“What’s my favorite color? Can you guess?”

Mycroft glanced at her again, his eyes travelling up and down her frail body. Favorite color… curious, he quickly went through all the facts he knew of her and all the clues she had unknowingly given him. Which was surprisingly little.

Ann was waiting patiently and he sighed, having decided to indulge her.

“Your impulsive and optimistic nature point to red; however, upon closer study I can tell that you value practicality above all else. You are a down-to-earth type of person who likes stability and balance in life. Also, you are strong willed and enjoy a good discussion and fiery argument, though you do not like to concede or admit defeat. Your mind processes any information quickly and efficiently, often too quickly for others to follow you, resulting in jumbled thoughts. However, you are also highly emotional and wear your heart on your sleeve, like an open book. You feel a deep need to belong, to be accepted, appreciated and admired for your talents and inner strength. For whoever does give you such acceptance, you are a loyal friend, a faithful partner and a…” he halted in his evaluation, giving her another cursory glance, noticing her lips had parted deliciously in a surprise, “passionate and selfless lover.”

“All in all,” he continued, giving her a victorious small smile, “green.”

Ann blinked in response, staring at him in utter disbelief, and then let out a laugh. “What the… I asked you to guess my favorite color and you gave me a complete character study!”

She laughed again, shaking her head in exasperation, “You are a bloody genius, you know that? I have no freaking idea where you got all that information from.”

Mycroft merely shrugged, as much as he was allowed by the ropes digging into his body.

“But you’re right, it’s green,” Ann continued, a smile still playing on those rosy lips. “However am I gonna outdo you, I don’t know.”

“You won’t,” he stated simply, turning to watch her again.

The woman smirked and then replied, “Arrogant much? Well, judging from that higher than thou attitude and the fact that you are an obnoxious, sarcastic and dominating individual, I am gonna deduce that yours is black.”

He smirked at her, but then she frowned and interrupted his upcoming negative response, “No, wait, scratch that, you don’t have a favorite color because you are above liking colors.”

Mycroft stared at her for a moment and then snorted, “Hmph, lucky guess.”

“Eh, I don’t believe in luck,” she shook her head and the older Holmes inclined his head curiously.

“What do you believe in, then?”

“Taking precautions and being prepared,” she wiggled her brows suggestively and he laughed. Yes, preparation was sensible. He did believe in being prepared as well. There was no such thing as luck and coincidences.

“Anyways, I do believe us to be in a stalemate,” Ann deduced.

“Why, I wasn’t aware this was a competition, I would have tried harder,” Mycroft smirked at her and she snorted.  

For a moment they simply stared at each other in silence and Mycroft wondered what it was about her that made her tolerable to him. Usually, he did not care much about others and he certainly did not indulge those he deemed beneath him in useless conversations. But this woman… Ann. She was entertaining and raised his curiosity. If Sherlock was here, he would have commented on how dangerous a curious Mycroft was, but, oh well, Sherlock was not here, was he now? A self-satisfied smile rose to the lips of the older Holmes as he decided he could allow himself to have some fun once in a while. 

Yet, his line of thought was broken by a sharp sound coming from in front of them. The metal hinges of the door shrouded in darkness groaned and squeaked before bursting right open and allowing a ray of light to light up the warehouse.

“Uh oh,” Ann whispered as both the unfortunate victims watched four men go in. They were arguing among themselves as they passed the doors and stopped just at the threshold. Mycroft could discern angry whispers and sniffs and one man was running his hand through his hair constantly in a nervous gesture. It was shaking wildly. A drug addict?

“I tell you it’s fishy, Dick was as healthy as a horse,” the harsh shout came from the jittery man. He was now trying to wrap his arms around his torso but they were shaking so badly he was having a hard time holding them still.

“I say it’s that bitch, just let me at her,” another one, Mycroft thought his hair had a blonde tint to it, added furiously, not bothering to keep his voice quiet.

“Shut up, Tommy,” this time the voice was authoritative and Mycroft realized the burly man wearing a leather jacket had to be the leader.

“But Ray-”

“Shut up!” Ray hissed unnerved. “It was just a heart attack. It happens. We need to get moving, anyways.”

A heart attack? Mycroft furrowed his brow in thought. So then, one of the kidnappers, who apparently did not have any maladies, had just died of a heart attack.

“See? What did I tell you?” Ann whispered with slight mock in her voice. “They’re so stupid they’re gonna die off without any input from us.”

Mycroft almost snorted in return and chanced a look at her. She was watching the entrance and the thugs intently now, her eyes narrowed. He turned back to the kidnappers who seemed to have come to an agreement of sorts and were moving towards them in a deliberately slow pace. The light from the doors was sufficient to see enough of the four men and, unwillingly, Mycroft had to agree with Ann. The leader, Ray, as Mycroft had learned and wasn’t it a welcome surprise to find Ann truly had not mixed up any of the names under stress, was wearing an old leather jacket. His build showed a troubled past as a failed boxer and small-scale thug and thief. Tough appearance but insecure inside.

The jittery man was of Mexican origins. He was chewing a piece of tobacco and constantly looking sideways and backwards as if expecting some unseen force to attack him. His hands were shaky either from stress or a disease, Mycroft was unsure but he knew very well this one was a coward. The weakest link, then.

To the right of the leader walked the blonde Tom who truly was an ex-convict. His arms were tattooed heavily and were slightly shaking, similarly to the Mexican’s. Mycroft guessed he was a friend of the dearly departed Dick, perhaps, they had served time together. Tom also had a wild look about him and his beady eyes were fixated on the woman next to Mycroft. He did not like that at all. The last man in the group was obviously an ex-soldier, with half of his face heavily scarred. He was a no nonsense man, though lost at the time of peace, with no one needing his particular set of skills.

All in all, it was a band of misfits who clearly did not know what they were doing. Any suspicions of a conspiracy soon flew out of the proverbial window and Mycroft sighed inwardly. There went his entertainment for tonight. Ann was right. They were a bunch of losers and dunderheads. 

“I believe our chances of survival have just gone up by 15%,” she suddenly whispered to him and Mycroft glanced at the woman in slight confusion. The band of dimwitted buffoons entered through the door a moment ago and she was already spouting dubious deductions of their survival. Where did she get those numbers from, anyways?

“And how did you come up with that?” He asked as quietly as her, watching the men make their way towards them, his mind still working in rapid succession to gather all the information he could.

“Eh,” she shrugged in her binds, “I was wrong in their medical diagnosis. It’s not idiocy they’re afflicted with; it’s retardation.”

He couldn’t hold in the slight snort that escaped his lips for he was in total agreement with her on this one. These so called kidnappers were truly the epitome of human stupidity. It was a wonder how they managed to abduct him.

Mycroft did not, however, encourage her for further conversation for the kidnappers were already upon them and the leader stopped in front of Holmes to cast him a self-satisfied grin. The Mexican guy was looking around nervously, fidgeting with his hands and pushing the tobacco around in his mouth. Tom’s attention was still unnervingly directed at Ann and Mycroft frowned inwardly. Perhaps, this Tom was the one to hit Ann.   

“Well, my little birdies, welcome, welcome to our humble abode,” the leader, Ray his name was, gestured around wildly, his voice mocking.

The Mexican guy laughed, an uneasy laugh, his hands still shaky. Mycroft took note of his reddened and teary eyes. Maybe the man was coming down with a fever?

Ann rolled her eyes at the introduction, “It’s a 400-square-meter warehouse, hardly what I’d call humble.”

“Shut up,” Ray hissed, anger seeping. “Trying to act smart, now are we? Well, you’ll get your chance.”

“I’m sure,” she replied dryly and Mycroft wondered why she had to antagonize the men. Truly, it would much simpler to stay silent, wouldn’t it? Did she have no fear of what the men could do?

In another moment, the blonde thug had his gun out, pointing it at Ann’s face, “Wanna repeat that, bitch? I know you did something, you silly whore!”

“Tom, stop it!” Ray barked and the Mexican fidgeted, taking out his own gun in a moment of stress. Sam remained the only one stoic, watching his accomplices warily.

“I say we kill her, Ray, I say we shoot the bitch and be done with it,” Tom hissed fervently and Mycroft took note of his wildly shaking hand. The gun was held so unstably Holmes almost feared the man might pull the trigger unconsciously.

“Stop waving that gun around, you dolt!” Ray grabbed the blonde’s hand, forcing it down.

“We can’t kill her, we can’t,” the Mexican interrupted, shaking like a leaf himself. Were the two of them afflicted by some sort of the disease? Mycroft narrowed his eyes. He was missing something, an important clue.

“I did not sign up for murder,” the jittery one continued, running his hand across his unruly hair. “Just theft, right? And some extortion or blackmail. No murder. I don’t wanna go to jail.”

“Shut up, Juan!” Ray shouted out, pointing his hand at the Mexican guy. Ah. Juan. How dull.

“Shut up, all of you!” the leader seemed to be losing his patience. Mycroft watched everything calculatingly. Ann might actually be right, if things continued like this, Juan would definitely not survive the night.

“And you,” Ray rounded on Ann, his lips in a frown. “Think of what you speak, you don’t know half of the things we might do to you.”

His voice was menacing and darkly promising. Mycroft noticed out of the corner of his eyes how Ann snorted, “I do read the papers sometimes, you know. Torture, rape, murder. Oh, but you can’t murder me, can you?”

Now her voice was mocking and Mycroft calculated quickly where her confidence came from. The leader seemed uncomfortable at the revelation and ready to object but Ann was already chatting on.

“I mean, you did take the truth serum bottle even though it had a note on it saying quite clearly “Don’t pick me up” and I did warn you of the consequences, and now that there’s another man kidnapped, it is pretty clear you’re gonna use it on him, but, of course, you took me as well, meaning you have no idea how it works. And you are right, the serum is very volatile, one drop too many and the man might just die. You wouldn’t really want murder on your hands, would you now?”  

Her last words were directed rather pointedly at Juan and Mycroft couldn’t help but be impressed. She managed to defend her own position by accentuating her worth while at the same time jabbing at the weakest link of their kidnappers, creating discord. Oh, and what sweet discord it was. He could appreciate manipulation when he’d seen one. Juan rounded on Ray like a madman, screaming and going into utter panic that he was not here to kill anyone and one death was already enough for him. He was gesticulating wildly as Sam watched on the sidelines looking uneasy and Tom joined in the fray, screaming loudly about how the death of his friend Dick could not be just a coincidence. It was all rather dull and tedious, truth be told, apart from the way it was orchestrated by Ann, and Mycroft instead toyed with the image of the truth serum bottle carrying a note saying “Don’t pick me up”. Did Ann really pull it off? That was like an invitation, really. The dullness, however, ended with a gunshot and the body of the Mexican guy in a puddle of ruby red blood on the floor.   

Mycroft chanced a glance at the woman but she was not staring at the dead man. For some reason, she was watching Ray, rather intently, her lips set into a frown. Mycroft followed her gaze to observe the man. He was calm and collected, his hand outstretched with the still smoking gun steady and straight. 

Tom, however, was shaking wildly once again, his movements jittery and panicky, his widened orbs fixed on the dead man. The ex-military man was still as stoic as ever, his face a mask of stone, though his eyes and the slight twitch of fingers told a different tale. He was ecstatic to be in the midst of violence and death again, Mycroft deduced.

“Shit, oh shit,” Tom muttered, gripping his head, turning around in circles in panic.

“Well,” Mycroft decided he could not really refrain from commenting on such a delicious situation. “I do believe you have murder on your hands now. Thirty years in prison, add another ten for kidnapping and possible extortion, a few more for an attempt at selling State secrets and you are looking at a life-sentence.”

Ann snickered at his words, making him feel almost proud at making her laugh. Not many people laughed at his jokes. Too dark of a humor, they said. To his utter surprise, though, while Ray turned to stare at him incredulously, as if unable to believe his prisoners could be so calm in this sort of a situation, Tom spun around and walked unsteadily towards Ann, his face set into a decisive frown. Mycroft fidgeted in the seat alarmed, as a sharp sound of a gun hitting the soft cheek of the woman resounded in the warehouse.

“You bitch, you damn harlot,” Tom screamed as he grabbed the woman’s chin turning her to face him. “I swear this is all your fault, you smarmy tramp!”

For some reason, Mycroft felt his chest squeeze just a little as he noticed the blood on Ann’s lip where the edge of the gun had nicked it. The blonde thug smeared his stubby finger over it, bruising her lip even more and making the woman wince. It was eerily loud in the empty warehouse and Mycroft watched the man, fuming. He did not tolerate any sort of physical violence against the innocent.

“Stop that, Tom,” Ray ordered angrily but it took the ex-military man to grab and haul Tom away from Ann. He was still staring fixatedly at the woman, his hands shaky again, his breathing ragged as if he had run a few hundred meters non-stop.

“It’s all her doing, look how she’s dressed, seducing everyone, thinking she can just say a word and everyone will jump according to her wishes,” he murmured and muttered under his breath and Mycroft narrowed his eyes. Past troubles and pent up anger, taken out on anyone remotely resembling his ex-lover. How dull.

“Tom, you need to calm down,” Ray was onto him, trying to diffuse the situation. “Everything’s still going according to plan and we are gonna keep to it, you hear me?”

“Plan?! What plan?!” the blonde was having another panic attack. Were his kidnappers really that ludicrous? “Dick is dead, Ray, DEAD! And now Juan too, why the hell did you have to shoot him, huh?”

“Calm the fuck down, Tommy,” Ray shouted. “He was breaking, he was gonna go and blab everything to the police! Look, just take a deep breath; you need to take it easy. Everything’s good. The man’s a nobody, no one is gonna look for him. We have the serum, we check if it works on the man and sell it to the highest bidder. Easy peasy, you’ll see.”

Oh goodness. They really did grab a random stranger off the street. It was just his bad luck they chose him. Mycroft refused to turn to Ann and acknowledge her knowing smirk. Oh, she was right from the very beginning. They were retards, the lot of them. It almost hurt to admit it. He had to reevaluate the situation once again. Something was amiss.  

“Yes, yes,” Tom blabbed, as he tried to breathe deeper, hyperventilating, “I-I can’t… I can’t breathe!”

“Yes, you can, Tommy,” Ray gripped the man’s shoulders. “Just concentrate and breathe. Breathe.”

The blonde seemed to calm a bit and Mycroft rolled his eyes at the scene. Wasn’t it supposed to be the victims who always had panic attacks?

“I’ll… I’ll just go for some fresh air,” Tom murmured and Mycroft took note how his hands were trembling even more so than before, as he put his gun behind the band of his jeans and pulled out a small bottle from his pocket. He handled the bottle over to Ray and the latter nodded his head, patting the blonde on the shoulder. Tom’s breathing was still ragged as if he had trouble taking in the air and his walk was unsteady but now Mycroft averted his attention to the small green-tainted bottle in Ray’s hands. The truth serum.

He almost wanted to laugh at it for the bottle (which was a piece of art in itself, the glass being moulded into an artistic shape) did have a piece of paper sticking out, tied to a ribbon that was wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Mycroft could almost make out the words, though he already knew it said “Don’t pick me up”. Ann sure had a weird sense of humor.  

“Alright, back to business,” Ray turned to them as the doors to the warehouse shut close behind Tom. “Now don’t get smart, you two. What’s the dosage?”

He held the bottle up and Mycroft could now clearly see the attached note. The thug frowned at it and tore it down in a fit of anger. Mycroft lamented for a brief moment. It really was an amusing sight.

“What’s the dose?” Ray spit out and Ann sighed heavily in return.

“First of all, I do hope you realize the serum is still in its experimental stage and is not as potent as I hope it to be in its final state,” she chattered on, ignoring the fuming look Ray was giving her. “Having said that, it takes exactly five drops and 30 seconds for the serum to work and incline any individual under its effects to feel the sudden urge to speak and tattle on about anything and everything someone might ask him, divulging his deepest secrets and the circumstances of the most important events in his life. Mind you, what he deems most important might not coincide with your opinion, so you should phrase the questions carefully, lest he gets carried away. Also, this is, of course, purely theoretical, you understand.”

“Wha-” Ray seemed to be incapable of understanding Ann’s chatter and Mycroft couldn’t help but smirk at his silly expression.

“What do you mean, theoretical?” Sam interrupted. Ah, the voice of reason.

Ann rolled her eyes, fidgeting on the hard chair uncomfortably, “Well, it’s not like I had the chance to test it. Do you know how hard it is to get willing subjects for testing anything these days? They’re all so suspicious and whenever they learn it’s a truth serum, they run away with their tails between their legs. Cowards, the lot of them.”

The thugs were left speechless as Ann continued and Mycroft had to admit she was right about this.

“I mean it’s not like I would be asking some innocent questions on what the name of their puppy was or when they got married,” she scoffed. “Of bloody course not. I would be digging deep to find all of their dirtiest secrets and no one wants that. So there, no willing subjects, really. How lame is that? I create one of the most potent truth serums in history and can’t test it properly cause all I have are rats and rabbits. And I do so hate them, you know, the rabbits.”

“What? Just shut up,” Ray hissed threateningly but Ann ignored him, opting to turn to Mycroft, instead. He raised his brow at her, wonderingly.

“They’re just so soft and innocent looking, you know,” Ann explained. “They stare at you with those dull round eyes, trusting you not to hurt them and then, bam, you test something horrible on them but there’s no betrayal in these eyes of theirs cause they trust in you too much not to hurt them and even in their dying moments they still stare at you as if you’re-”

“SHUT UP!!!” Ray had finally lost his patience and Ann fell silent, put off by him screaming in her face. Mycroft cocked his head sideways, thinking. Everything she said was purely the truth. She couldn’t lie to save her life, he was sure of that but there was something amiss. Meanwhile, Ray was breathing heavily, running his hands through his short hair, a hand that was trembling ever so slightly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes. Really, there was something missing. Despite the first impressions, Ann had proven to be a moderately smart woman. She wouldn’t be just chatting complete nonsense in front of mentally unstable kidnappers, unless she was… stalling for time? Curious.

“Shut up, you,” Ray repeated, trying to calm himself and Mycroft watched closely the miniscule tremors his fingers holding the bottle were sporting. Could it be?..

“Five drops, yes?” the leader of the kidnappers asked and Ann nodded, silent.

“And he talks?”

She fidgeted uncomfortably on the chair, “Uh, maybe?”

The leader groaned and then stuck the bottle out towards Sam, “Administer it, Sammy.”

The ex-soldier nodded, reaching out for the bottle and taking it into his hand. He came closer to Mycroft who was eyeing the bottle carefully.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ann quipped and Mycroft narrowed his eyes, his mind working in overdrive. She did not want them to open the bottle. She was stalling. Trying to protect him? Trying to prevent something?

“Just open the damn bottle, Sam!” Ray shouted and came to stand close to his accomplice. The man nodded and took the cap of the bottle between his fingers.

“Hold your breath, now,” Ann’s voice was mocking but Mycroft could hear the underlying warning and while Ray turned to stare at her in obliviousness and Sam uncorked the bottle, his eyes still riveted on the green glass, Mycroft felt every clue fall into place and held his breath immediately. Just in time, too, as sickly green gas sprayed out within the next few seconds, covering everything in smoke. Mycroft had an inkling it would be a very very bad idea to breathe it in and he silently concentrated in counting the passing seconds, listening to the rough coughs and shouts of the two kidnappers. The green mist was already clearing away and he could see Ray, clutching at his chest, on his knees, breathing in raggedly. Sam had fallen to the floor, too, his arm twitching as he tried to reach out to his dropped weapon. His eyes were already getting glassy, staring in utter horror at the innocently looking green bottle. It had rolled away, having spilt white milky substance onto the floor.

Fast-acting lethal poison in form of gas. Ann did work in the lab under Dr. Stranders who had developed quite a few revolutionary poison recipes, though Mycroft was starting to have his suspicions how much of that work was really performed by Dr. Stranders herself.

Ann was too smart to just leave the truth serum lying around. Of course, she did say she believed in taking precautions. And what a precaution it was. Deliciously far-sighted, cunning and devious. He would applaud her, really, if his arms were not tied, that is.

He had counted 38 seconds already and it was getting difficult to go without the so needed oxygen but Mycroft wanted to remain on the side of caution. Ann did mention the average person could hold out for 30 seconds. If he had a 75% chance of survival with 50 seconds holding his breath, he would hold it. The green mist was almost gone and the kidnappers were lying deadly still.

 “Well, that was anticlimactic,” he suddenly heard Ann’s voice and turned to see her staring at the thugs with a frown. It was safe to breathe, then, Mycroft deduced.

“Quite,” he said, quietly, still marveling at the brilliance of the precautions she took.  

“See? Dropped like flies,” Ann teased, remembering his words from not so long ago and Mycroft let out a surprisingly honest laugh. Indeed.

“Well then, I believe you lost that bet,” she sounded smug and Mycroft sighed. Was she really thinking about that silly one-sided, might he add, bet?

“I did not shake on it, so it is moot,” he commented dryly and she turned to him, her eyes round in shock.

“What? You’re backing out? Cheater,” she pouted and Mycroft narrowed his eyes, watching as she carefully licked her chapped lips, avoiding touching the bloody split.

“There’s still one of them outside,” Mycroft decided to change the topic. “I dread to think what his reaction will be after seeing this.”

Though he had a suspicion the man would never see the scene.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, really,” Ann confirmed it, calmly. “He’s most probably dead, already.”

“You laced the bottle with poison,” Mycroft stated. “Twice.”

Ann shrugged in reply, “It is an experimental truth serum, rumored to be most potent so far. I had to protect it somehow. I made sure the entire bottle was coated in poison and I added another one to the cork so that it spreads out as gas and disperses in 35 seconds. I’m still working on them, though. For the first one, I used a mild version of slow-acting _cerbera odollam_ which blocks the calcium ion channels in heart muscle and causes disruption of the heart beat but I do need to tone down the symptoms. Shaky hands and lack of air are quite telling, you know. Of course, the poison is almost impossible to detect in autopsies but it is important for the victims not to get suspicious and, frankly, death by heart attack is pretty dull, after all.”

“Yes, indeed,” he mused, staring at the milky substance on the floor. It was ingenious, really. Whoever touched the bottle, would get poisoned immediately and die of heart attack within the next few hours. Almost all the kidnappers had held the bottle at some point and even if they didn’t, the second trap would have gotten them, anyway. They both were lucky the kidnappers were complete idiots and did not think of taking any precautions. Or perhaps, they were lucky because Ann could be rather ingenious when she wanted it. He chanced another glance at her, watching her profile and the slight frown on her forehead. Her intellect was… surprising.

“Reckon we’re gonna wait here long for the rescue?”

Mycroft blinked. Her thought processes were still too jumpy.

“You’re not disturbed by the fact you’ve just killed five men?” Mycroft asked, observing her reaction as Ann shrugged her shoulders as much the ropes allowed her to.

“Better them than us,” she said. “And I did warn them. Even the bottle had a note with a warning. It’s not my fault they did not listen.”

Mycroft thought it might have been because she had never outright said they’d die a painful and horrible death upon uncorking that bottle. Oh well, it wouldn’t have played out this beautifully otherwise.

“I really crave for a cup of black tea,” meanwhile, Ann moaned, laying her head backwards to rest. “And it’s not like anyone’s gonna miss me soon. I do like to get to work late. What about you? Any hope your little brother will be raising an alarm come morning?”

Mycroft laughed at the idea, “I sure hope not. He is unbearable when he is playing the hero.”

He then smiled at her innocently and added, “But as a matter of fact, our rescue should be here within the next fifteen or so minutes. I’d be very disappointed if they weren’t.”

“Oh,” she cocked her brow inquisitively and he continued smiling at her, his eyes half-lidded.

“Your smile is unnerving,” she finally said and turned away, to stare out the highly placed windows, which were finally letting in a bit of the morning sun.

Mycroft merely grinned even more widely as he calculated it was nearing 6AM. His men should barge in any second now, really. As always, he was right and he watched with an almost giddy pleasure as Ann flinched at the sound of breaking glass and gaped at the men clad in black military uniforms spilling into the warehouse from every available corner and window. It was quite a sight; he had to admit, even though they did come in a tad bit too late.

“Minor position in the government, huh?” Ann turned to stare at him incredulously. “Cause I want one too, if it entitles me to a personal hit men squad.”

Mycroft chuckled as he replied, “Oh, we can’t all work for the government, my dear.”

She snorted and watched as the men hurried towards them, some surrounding the dead kidnappers and checking their pulse, others coming forth to untie Mycroft and her. Mycroft flexed his hands, immediately, and nodded to the agent behind Ann, who was waiting for his permission to untie the woman. He could already see his Assistant, dressed as impeccably as ever, heading straight to him with her phone in hand. He was convinced she already had all the information available.

He made sure to get up slowly as his muscles were still rather unresponsive after almost seven hours of being tied to a chair. He noticed Ann was not rushing to get up either, opting to rub her wrists gently. They were red with broken skin where the ropes had dug in more fiercely than they should have. He frowned watching as she touched her lip gingerly and then stared at the smeared blood on her finger as if it was the most fascinating thing ever. She licked and sucked on it gently and Mycroft turned around, not wishing to admit the scene raised certain thoughts and urges in him he had not had for quite a while.

Meanwhile, his Assistant handed him his phone and his trusty umbrella. He took it in hand immediately and unlocked the phone to take a look at any material his Assistant had provided him with. The Major responsible for the operation came to stand by him and saluted him quietly, informing the warehouse was empty bar five dead bodies. All abductors were eliminated. There was no grand conspiracy, of course, just like he suspected.

Anthea had already selected a few possible leak routes of the information concerning the truth serum and Mycroft flicked through it quickly, opting to stop at the file on Annabeth Rouget, an orphan from birth who showed average intelligence and had average results in school, though she had perfect exam scores. She did major in biochemistry and spent several years travelling abroad. Her return was marked with a few articles on fatal poisons and their possible use in the field of medicine. Nothing too exciting or eye-catching. Another few years with no apparently interesting events until she was hired by Asclepius Laboratory as a lab assistant. She has worked directly under Dr. Stranders and has been employed by the company for over 10 years. Her birthday was on March 8 and she was turning 34. There were some other details on her colleagues, non-existent family and sparse friends that Mycroft skimmed through quickly, ignoring the fidgeting agents around.

When he finally did turn to address them, it was with sharp orders of what to do with the bodies and how to scoop up the spill of the truth serum. He took great care to explain to them not to touch the green bottle. He really did not need any more dead idiots around. As everyone moved to follow his instructions to the letter, Mycroft allowed himself to glance back at Ann.

Only to find that she was gone from the chair. Figures. He really shouldn’t have trusted in her to sit still if the information he had deduced and read about her was correct. And he was never wrong, after all.

Frowning, Mycroft gripped the handle of his trusty umbrella, looking around the warehouse in search of Ann. His Assistant Anthea gave him a curious glance over but a brief glare from him made her turn her attention back to her Blackberry. 

It did not take long to find her for Ann was the only one heavily underdressed. The young biochemist was standing a couple meters away, hidden by the agents milling about. She was staring curiously at one of the soldiers who tried his best to ignore her but Mycroft could see the man’s eyes drift to the woman’s cleavage now and then and his cheeks were dusted with pink. She was obviously trying to engage him in conversation. At least, the latter was replying in short and clipped sentences.

Grumbling, Mycroft swung his umbrella in irritation and marched over towards Ann, who was by now rubbing her shoulders with her hands in an attempt to get herself warmer. As he passed, he could see other agents give the woman cursory appreciating glances, all of them stopping to stare at her bare thighs and barely covered breasts. Dunderheads, the lot of them, his mind supplied as he glared straight out at the soldier in front of Ann. As soon as he felt the heated stare, the man turned tail and ran.

Ann looked confused, watching him go and then flinched slightly as Mycroft covered her shoulders with the jacket of his own three piece suit. If he was feeling chilly, he dreaded to think how cold the woman was, having spent the last seven hours almost naked in this fridge-like warehouse. Not that he cared much, of course. It was but a simple plan to entice her to him. She had some skills he could use, after all.  

Meanwhile, Ann turned to face him, her dark eyes round and wide in surprise.

“Oh,” she muttered. “Thank you.”

Her hands gripped his jacket firmer and she snuggled into it more comfortably. Mycroft merely inclined his head in a gentlemanly manner and smiled slightly as she commented, “Smells of books and paper.”    

Mycroft was somewhat regretful he had not worn a coat.  The jacket came short just below the woman’s thighs, leaving her shapely legs still bare and susceptible to the chilly weather as well as the heated stares of the rather unprofessional men around. He was acutely aware Ann did not notice them but they did her. It was aggravating. For some reason, he felt irritated and wished to remain alone with the woman once again. She was… entertaining. She was intelligent enough to match his own wits. She did not scream or throw a fit in the face of danger and had a calm demeanor.  

Despite his better judgment, Mycroft did appreciate a woman who wasn’t ruled by insipid emotions and relied on the prowess of the mind. Sherlock’s comments on his apparent loneliness came to mind and Mycroft smirked. Silly little brother. He was alone because there was no one worthy to stand by his side.

“What are you smirking about?” Ann asked suspiciously and Mycroft merely grinned widely. She did remind him a little of Sherlock. She was clearly uncomfortable in social situations. While a genius in her own right, Ann seemed to be totally naïve in other fields of life, if her still ongoing ignorance of the looks she received and lack of trustful friends was anything to rely on. She was too immersed in her work, her mind too preoccupied with scientific breakthroughs to take note of other things. Which, actually, worked in his favor.

“You look like some sort of an evil mastermind,” she muttered, her stare directed at him cautious and untrusting.

“Now, why would you think so?” Mycroft smiled at her indulgently as he placed his hand on the small of her back, leading Ann back to where the thugs had fallen not so long ago. Their bodies were now covered in white sheets and an agent was working on the spill, trying to collect the white substance carefully into a clear container.

“Woman intuition,” Ann replied with a small smirk as she stopped to watch the progress the agent made. The smirk was soon replaced with a frown.

“Why are you even bothering? Just leave it,” Ann said, pointing to the puddle of white liquid and Mycroft sighed inwardly as he turned to give her meaningful look.

“We can’t just leave a truth serum spilled about,” he explained patiently. For someone so smart she could be very naïve. How endearing.

“Well, yes, I know,” she glanced up at him with a small roll of her enticingly dark eyes, “but you can leave it. It’s not like it’s the truth serum.”

The man scooping the milky substance up stopped and raised his head in surprise as Mycroft stared at her speechless and flabbergasted, “What?”

“It’s just milk,” she shrugged and Mycroft shook his head, unable to believe his own ears, not for the first time that morning. His mind, of course, was another thing and as he could detect no lies in her voice, there was only one possible explanation. And God help him if he was right.

“I-I’m sorry,” the crouching agent stuttered. “Did you just say… milk?”

“Yes,” Ann nodded, glancing down at the ground and the white spill. “I like to take precautions, in case someone does want to take my inventions without my consent. So, I poured milk into the bottle instead of the serum. Even if someone stole the bottle and managed not to die from either of the poisons I laced it with, they still wouldn’t get the serum.”

The agent raised the container to his nose suspiciously and sniffed, “It does smell like… milk. Slightly spoiled, I’d say.”

Meanwhile, Mycroft stood motionless, something churning in his gut. This entire night…

_… There **were five** of them when I was brought here. Not sure how many there **are left now** …_

_… We’re lucky our kidnappers are stupid. We **might actually survive** this…_

everything estimated precisely and preplanned…

_… Holding one’s breath is **vital** to one’s survival…_

_… What do you believe in, then? … **Taking precautions** … _

all this time…

_… They took the truth serum **bottle** …_

_… At the rate things are going now they **won’t even get the chance to try that serum** out…_

_… I bet they’ll get themselves **killed** **sooner than they can interrogate** you…_

she knew it from the very beginning…

_… Our chances of **survival** have just gone up by 15%..._

_… They’re so stupid they’re gonna **die off** **without any input from us** …_

All the clues were right in front of him…

_… And he talks?.. Uh, **maybe**?.._

_… **Hold your breath, now** …_

Ingenious, really.

Simply brilliant.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle her or kiss her senseless.

“Alright,” he took a deep breath, steadying himself, and shook the battling ideas off, having decided to take one step at a time. He’d think over it and reevaluate the situation and Ann’s future role later. “Then where’s the real serum? Are you sure it’s safe?”

Ann looked up at him surprised, “It’s in the milk carton in my fridge, where else?”

The agent on the ground gaped at her and lost the grip on the container which soon crashed to the ground, spilling the substance again. Feeble-minded idiot.

Mycroft wasn’t fairing any better though, and his hand rose on its own volition and rubbed his forehead tiredly, “But of course.”

For the love of God, would he ever get around to how this woman thought?

Ann fidgeted, uncomfortable, “Well, I wasn’t sure where to put it. The milk carton was empty, though, so I poured it in. It’s not like anyone would think to look for a truth serum there, right?”

“Doubtful,” Mycroft gave her a serene smile, screaming inside at the sheer ludicrousness of the entire situation. Despite the fact that she had managed to prevent one of the biggest security leaks as simply as that, he was unsure as of yet if she was a true genius or a complete scatterbrain.

“And what if someone decided to take tea with a little bit of milk at your house?” he opted for asking a simple question and watched her reaction.

“Oh,” Ann seemed surprised, then sheepish. “Eh, well, I suppose… they’d blab a lot?”

“Indeed,” he gave her a severe dark look making the woman cringe and then turned to the agent who was still staring at Ann but now he seemed to be in an almost reverent and admiring daze. What was he staring at, anyways? Half-witted dolt. “Gather this up, Agent.”

Mycroft’s voice did seem to wake the man up and he rushed to comply with the order, sneaking secret glances at the barely clad woman. The older Holmes sighed in exasperation and stepped into his line of sight, right in front of Ann. She looked up, surprised.

“Why don’t you wait for me further away from this mess?” He gave her confused look a reassuring smile. “I’ll just take a moment to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

She nodded and turned around to walk away, tugging his jacket over her shoulders more securely. Almost immediately, Mycroft turned around to glare at the nameless agent. The latter was leaning over to stare at the retreating Ann, his gaze belying he was impressed with the woman.

“Do your job, agent,” Mycroft spit out in annoyance and the man flinched, returning to his work again.

The older Holmes turned around and walked over to his Assistant. She was still typing furiously on her Blackberry and only raised her head inquisitively when Holmes leaned on his umbrella in front of her. He had to admit he had missed that umbrella. It was a favorite of his out of his entire collection, after all. It helped him think, not that he needed the help, of course. The sense of nonchalant, yet, intimidating presence the umbrella gave him was only an added bonus. 

Mycroft heaved a small sigh and then gave out orders to make sure nothing leaked away and the entire event was glossed over. It took him no more than five minutes but as he turned to leave towards his car and finally head home, he realized Ann was nowhere to be seen. Again. He had managed to lose her twice within the last half an hour. Exasperated, he motioned Anthea away on her new orders and marched on his reinitiated search. Perhaps, the retarded kidnappers did have the right idea for once. He might have to tie the woman to himself if he wanted her to stay still.

He knew this sudden obsession of his was not healthy or sane but he was too intrigued to stop.  He had his fair share of women – witty ones, intelligent ones, smart ones, sexy ones… you name it. But Ann… she was the one that made him feel… alive. The world had become no longer boring and tedious. Much to his displeasure, Mycroft knew Sherlock and him were alike. He too was often bored and tired of the world. It offered no challenges to him. But Mycroft was better at hiding it than his brother. He had always surrounded himself with political intrigue and conspiracies to occupy his ever hungry mind. And yet, here was something new and shrouded in riddles, something he had missed. Oh, Mycroft was not going to lose his newest toy so quickly.

Taking large confident strides, the umbrella swirling in his hand merrily, Mycroft crossed the warehouse, taking care not to miss his newest object of attention and focus. She was not around, meaning she was outside. He did stop at the entrance as one of the hit men as Ann called them, handed him his jacket. Mycroft frowned. If any of these fools took the initiative and sent her away, someone would pay. Dearly.

The cold and dark glare sent the man reeling and Mycroft smiled satisfied as he went outside. Ann was but a few steps away, shivering in the morning cold again. One of the agents was leading her towards a car, not his car, Mycroft noticed, and she was following him, looking around at her surroundings. It did not take long to catch up to her as she halted in front of the non-descript vehicle.

“Leaving so soon, my dear Ann?” He asked with a smile and watched her turn around, her lips set in a frown. It smoothed into a friendly smile as she saw him.

“I suppose so. I don’t have any desire to mill around, do you?”

“Of course not,” Mycroft replied as he walked to her and covered Ann in his jacket again in one elegant swoop. She seemed surprised, yet, thankful, and buried deeper into the jacket, grabbing at the lapels.

“You’ll be cold yourself,” she commented, nonetheless, and Mycroft merely inclined his head.

“I believe you are in need of it more than me.”

“Um sir, I am under-” the agent tried to intervene but Mycroft swiftly cut him off.

“You were misinformed, I will escort Ms. Ann myself,” his cold smile said it all as he once again set his hand upon the small of Ann’s back, leading her over to his own car. The engine was already running, the driver given the necessary instructions and he was sure Anthea had already completed hers.

“Come now, Ann,” he smiled at her as the young woman frowned at him. He could feel her shivering underneath his jacket but he felt oddly satisfied the piece of clothing was back on her shoulders. He was feeling acutely… possessive. He always felt that when he was curious about something, even though that did not happen often. It did, however, happen now. Her mind was one in a billion, of that he was sure.

A misplaced gem, you could say, he pondered as he led Ann to his sleek car and held the door open for her. She bit her lip and he frowned at the reminder of her split lip. Mycroft merely gave her a what he deemed to be a reassuring smile and she returned it, getting into the car. Mycroft entered after her and the car moved immediately. The temperature inside was warm, especially compared to the chilly morning outside and Mycroft took note how Ann’s shoulders sagged with relief and she seemed to relax in the seat.

It was quite an ordeal she had gone through, despite her knowledge of the poisoned bottle and non-existent truth serum. Many things might have gone wrong, Mycroft mused. He couldn’t help but admire her inner strength and calculative abilities.

“Am I getting kidnapped again?” she asked, suddenly, turning to face him, her dark eyes digging into him curiously.

“Of course not, why ever would you think so?” He raised his brow inquiringly, waiting for an explanation. She seemed to have the strangest ideas pop into her little head.

“Well, I did not tell you my address and I am pretty sure even though you are a genius, you’re not a mind reader,” she replied relatively calmly with a bit of sarcasm.

He observed her for a while, smiling benignly, “I merely deduced you would not like to return to your home so soon after what happened.”

“Why? What happened?” Ann seemed utterly confused for a moment and then realization dawned on her. “Damn it, I left the stove on, didn’t I? And it caught fire? I knew I shouldn’t have left the _Rheum rhaponticum_ simmer while I was not at home.”

For a moment, Mycfroft frowned, as he digested the flow of information. _Rheum rhaponticum_?

“Rhubarb?” he muttered in confusion and Ann shrugged.

“I was hoping to increase the effects of the oxalic acid contained in rhubarbs from convulsion and coma inducing to lethal poisoning by boiling them in soda. It hadn’t worked out well, so far. I might need to increase the dosage or, perhaps, alternate the temperature.”

“Fascinating, but no,” Mycroft managed to squash down the slight wave of panic at the idea that such an innocently looking plant as rhubarb could actually be used as poison. “I was talking of your kidnapping, actually. I’d think you’d be uncomfortable to return to the place where your safety was violated so recently.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment and then pointed out, “It’s my home. Why would I feel uncomfortable in it?”

The man sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

“And you are abducting me right now, just for the record,” she muttered in irritation.

“No, I am not,” Mycroft insisted in denying.

“I am riding in a car with a stranger with no idea where to,” she said pointedly. “Isn’t that what kidnapping is?”

“Only when the person is unwilling,” Mycroft shot back. “You entered my car out of your own free will. And we are hardly strangers now, are we? We did spend over 7 hours together being abducted. Isn’t that what people call bonding?”

“You were unconscious for over four hours of those,” she whispered harshly.

“Was I?”

She glared at him for a second and then turned away, huffing.

“Also, you are in need of medical attention,” he added, eyeing the dark bruise on her cheek, the split lip and the harsh red marks on her dainty wrists. The blood was still smeared on her chin from when the idiot had touched her and he had an urge to wipe it away.

“What?” she turned back into him, her eyes wide and round, “I do not! It’s a split lip, not a punctured lung.”

“An injury is an injury.”

“You’re taking me to a hospital then?” she asked, raising her brow, sarcasm seeping through.

He smiled at her his usual innocent smile, “Of course not. It’s a split lip, not a punctured lung.”

The glare she sent his way was oddly cute, he thought. A small smile graced his lips as he watched her through half lidded eyes.

“I am curious about something, though,” he broke the silence. “Would you mind answering a question of mine?”

She shrugged and pulled the jacket over herself more securely. “I suppose not.”

“The bottle was poisoned, with a rather strong and lethal poison might I add. What would you have done if the kidnappers told you to take and hold it? This method of defense is a bit of a double edged sword, after all?”

“Oh, that,” Ann turned to look at him, a frown on her face. “It’s simple, really. I can handle the bottle easily. I’ve worked with poisons all of my life. I’m immune to about 89% of them.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. He was expecting certain precautions and contingency plans, of course, but immunity? He had heard of ways to ingest poisons in small doses and gain the upper hand but he had figured it was tedious and much too difficult to attain the desired result for all the poisons that existed in the world. Apparently, it was not tedious enough for Ann.    

“So, what’s up with that umbrella? Is it some sort of concealed sword thingy?” Meanwhile, the young woman asked and Mycroft smiled way too innocently.

“Oh, this old thing?” He lifted up his trusty umbrella. “Why, perhaps, it is.”

“Then why didn’t you use it when you were getting kidnapped?”

“Well, that would have been far too boring, wouldn’t it?” He replied, letting a small smirk grace his lips and earning a suspicious glare from Ann.

She then turned away from him ceremoniously and opted to stare at the passing landscape. They were still driving past fields, heading towards the city. Mycroft merely watched her curiously, wondering once again what made him so interested in her. He was rather inclined to continue their somewhat odd relationship. She was pleasing to the eye and her mind was more than intriguing. Add to that the benefit of finally getting Sherlock to shut up about his lack of a girlfriend and the possibility seemed almost too good to pass up.

Silence fell around them for a while and Mycroft indulged in the quiet right up until the woman shook her head and turned to face him, once again, her face showing exasperation and curiosity.

“So, then, who are you, really?” she asked, her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.

Mycroft arched his brow inquiringly and cocked his head sideways, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please,” Ann rolled her eyes. “No ordinary government official gets rescued within eight hours of his kidnapping by an entire army of secret agents!”

“Why, apparently, I do,” Mycroft smiled at her benignly and Ann sniffed, turning away again.

“Fine, don’t tell me. Meanie.”

He chuckled in return as he replied, “Truth is, I am a government official. Nothing less, nothing more.”

She glanced at him through her lashes, suspicion still present in her brown orbs, and then gave a small sigh. Mycroft supposed that meant her giving up on the subject. He watched her shift in her seat and get more comfortable, realizing her eyes reminded him of hot chocolate.  He rather liked hot chocolate. Smiling benignly, he turned to glance out of the window for a few moments, coordinating his thoughts. Anthea was already working on apprehending the culprit of this entire evening. He was yet unsure of the punishment as Mycroft felt rather conflicted. On the one hand, he got kidnapped out of the blue and had to endure the stupidity of his abductors. On the other hand, he met Ann to whom he was becoming rather attracted. Then again, the kidnappers did hurt the young woman and he supposed someone had to answer for that. Yes, might as well take it out on the mastermind.

Satisfied with the decision, he took out his phone to send a message to Anthea on how to further deal with the traitor of the Asclepius Laboratory. His focus was interrupted when something soft bumped into him and Mycroft glanced sideways to find that Ann had fallen asleep, her body falling to lean upon his shoulder. Her head lolled to the side and she wore a peaceful expression as she slept. Mycroft smiled as he shifted her body so that it was lying more comfortably. Yes, this was rather nice, he thought.

 

* * *

 

He woke to the beep of his alarm clock and blinked at the sharp morning sun streaming through the window. He had decided to nap for a few hours after the entire ordeal this early morning. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for him to be cranky due to the lack of sleep.  Lazily, Mycroft stretched on the couch he was lying on and then got up, deciding to check up on Ann. A few hours ago, he had brought her to one of his smaller apartments in London. The young woman was completely beat and only stayed awake long enough for him to clean up her split lit and apply anti-bruising cream to her cheek. She did not even argue overly much as he ordered her to his own bed, taking up the couch in another room. Ann was asleep even before her head hit the pillow. She dearly needed the rest, he had decided as he tucked her in securely.

Dressing up quickly, he walked across the living room and into the bedroom only to find the latter empty. For a moment, Mycroft stood there, wondering. Was she in the bathroom? He had an inkling she was not. The man gave a sigh and rubbed his forehead. The bed sheets were crumpled so she had at least gotten some sleep. After a quick inspection of the apartment, Mycroft soon confirmed Ann was gone. He really needed to start to keep tabs on her. Apparently, the woman had a penchant for running off.  However, a quick call to Anthea reassured Mycroft that Ann had left his apartment a bit over an hour ago and was already back to her own home.

Well, that just wouldn’t do, Mycroft decided. Why, not even a brief note of farewell? And so, an hour and a few instructions to Anthea later, Mycroft found himself standing in front of a non-descript door to the apartment of his newest object of affection. He was holding a large bouquet of lilies of the valley wrapped in a see-through paper and tied with a silky ribbon. He had deduced Ann would appreciate the simplicity of wild flowers and while it took Anthea a while to hunt the bouquet down, Mycroft couldn’t care less.

A few minutes later, the door opened to reveal Ann who was now wearing a simple white apron freshly splashed with slightly sticky looking greenish goo. Mycroft raised his brow as Ann blinked at him in surprise. Her eyes then landed on the flowers in his hands and for a minute she simply stared as if her brain had short-circuited.

“Lillies of the valley…” she whispered. “Containing low concentrate of convallatoxin in their bell-shaped flowers. If ingested in abundance, causes vomit, diarrhea, headaches and blurred vision among other side-effects. Especially dangerous to people with heart condition. Awesome! How did you know?”

Her eyes shot up to meet his and Mycroft wondered how in the world did he manage to choose a poisonous flower to bring to his future date?

“Oh, this will do nicely,” Ann beamed at him as she grabbed the flowers and practically tore away the wrapping paper.

Mycroft followed her inside, noting mentally to look up poisonous flowers in more detail in the future.

“I’m working on my side-project of developing a slow acting hallucination-inducing drug and I was trying various combinations but convallarin will be perfect.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft muttered as he watched Ann tear up the unlucky flowers.

“Oh, make yourself at home,” she gave him a small smile as she threw in the bell-shaped blooms into a boiling pot of greenish liquid.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Mycroft smiled contently as he decided to ignore the bubbling poison and instead take a look around the small apartment.  “Something else other than milk I should be aware of?”

“What? No, of course not,” she gave him an incredulous glance. “It’s perfectly safe in here.”

He raised his brow dubiously but continued observing the kitchen which seemed to have more laboratory-related equipment than cooking appliances.

“Oh, wait,” Ann turned to him, pensive, her hand stopping in the middle of stirring. “Don’t eat that rabbit stew on the table or the salad on the window sill, it’s all grown on poison. Fed it to the rabbit to see if the effects transferred to the rabbit meat and how efficient it could be if it did.”

“Any success?” he enquired.

“Don’t know, too scared to eat it,” she shrugged and turned to the pot again, humming something quietly.

“Hm,” Mycroft eyed the potentially dangerous stew pensively. The probability of his little brother accepting anything edible from him was barely over 15% but, perhaps, it was worth trying, after all.

Yes, he knew Ann would come in handy somehow, if only to get some revenge on his dearest brother. Now, he needed to plan this carefully and court her slowly. And he’d need to assign a surveillance level as well, so that Anthea can keep watch on her when he can’t. Mommy would have to be informed, as well, naturally. Sherlock? Hm, perhaps, he’d leave his brother guessing for a while, Mycroft thought and nodded in satisfaction, as he started planning on the best approach to court his soon to be girlfriend. It shouldn’t take more than half a year to win her over, he decided and then wondered if he should recalculate it just to be on the safe side. It wouldn’t do for him to be wrong in his deductions, after all.

Nodding his head in silent acquiescence to his own plans, Mycroft glanced back at Ann only to find her sneeze and the room drown in slightly bluish mist rising from the mysterious pot of bubbling hallucinogen. Yes, Mycroft thought, life would definitely be no longer boring. 


End file.
